


To Each Their Own

by MaskoftheRay



Series: The Things That I Do For You [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Acceptance, Alfred Pennyworth is a good dad, Bisexual Bruce Wayne, Bisexual Male Character, Brits drinking coffee for the first time, Coffee vs. Tea, Coming Out, Hugs, M/M, Other, Parent-Child Relationship, Tiny bit of Angst, Worried Bruce Wayne, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23888629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: Alfred tries coffee for the first time. Bruce comes out.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Series: The Things That I Do For You [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693975
Comments: 18
Kudos: 245





	To Each Their Own

**Author's Note:**

> “ **Boston Tea Party** , (December 16, 1773), incident in which 342 chests of tea belonging to the British East India Company were thrown from ships into Boston Harbor by American patriots disguised as Mohawk Indians. The Americans were protesting both a tax on tea (taxation without representation) and the perceived monopoly of the East India Company.”  
> — “Boston Tea Party,” _Encyclopædia Britannica_

The day progresses normally until just after 3:30 p.m.

Alfred is giving the Library its bi-monthly cleaning when he hears Bruce walk into the room. This should have been the first sign that something is wrong— one only hears Bruce when he _wants_ them to. This usually happens when he needs something. Then comes a soft, “Ahem.” Alfred sets down the duster, and carefully steps from the ladder.

“Yes?”

Bruce does not fidget— hasn’t since he was a very young boy— but there are times where he comes near enough. This is one of them. Alfred arches a brow. “Al, do you remember— when I was eleven— you promised to try coffee?”

He quirks his brow again. “I do.” _What’s this about then?_

“Well,” Bruce swallows, and looks at him— only nearly meeting Alfred’s curious gaze. “Unless I’m mistaken, you still haven’t. Tried coffee. And I was wondering if you’d like to make today the day that changes.”

 _Curiouser and curiouser_ , Alfred thinks. “I suppose there’s no harm to it. However, Sir, I make no promises to _enjoy it_. You Yankees do have some rather… peculiar tastes.”

Bruce’s lips twitch. “Yes, well… we _do_ enjoy having food with flavor to it, I suppose.” He chuckles. Alfred just sighs.

Bruce leads them to the kitchen, where, apparently, he’s already prepared two cups of coffee.

The mugs are rather large and indelicate, compared to the teacups Alfred is used to. And there’s no saucer for him to rest the beverage on. However, Bruce has still gotten out the bowl of sugar cubes, tongs, and creamer. Alfred takes a seat. Bruce does too. “You’ll probably want more milk and sugar than usual, Al. It’s pretty bitter,” his boy advises, smiling mischievously.

“I am capable of handling a little bitterness,” he replies mildly.

“I’m sure you are.” Bruce laughs again, although, to his ears, there is something rather _strained_ about the noise. _Hm. Best to let the subject come about naturally_. Alfred still humors Bruce, and though he doesn’t say it, he’s glad to have included the extra sweetener and milk; the coffee is bitter, and a bit strong for his tastes.

“What do you think?”

Alfred hesitates. “I believe,” he begins, taking another small sip, grimacing, “that I shall stick to tea in the future. But to each their own, I suppose.” He sets the half-full mug down.

“Perhaps that’s for the best. I drink enough coffee for the both of us anyway.”

Alfred nods. “Indeed. Now, tell me what it is that made you concoct this silly scheme, my boy.”

Bruce’s eyes widen momentarily, and a pang of affection runs through him. Though the years have changed Bruce— have changed _both_ of them— sometimes, things remain the same.

The kitchen is quiet for the next few moments.

“Well… um. You remember Clark, right?”

He snorts. “Yes, Sir. I _do_ happen to remember Clark Kent. Your best friend, if one is permitted to say that you have _friends_. And if I am not mistaken— do forgive me otherwise, I have an old man’s memory, you see— he happens to be Superman.”

Bruce snorts, but the frivolity is short-lived. “Point taken.” He swallows. “I asked because Clark is coming over for dinner tonight, and—”

“ _Surely_ you are not asking me to cook for the pair of you with so little preparation? Neither of you may have appetites like Master West’s, but do not be mistaken, Master Bruce: you both eat plenty.”

Bruce swallows, then shakes his head. “No, Al. It’s not— that’s…” He sighs. “We have dinner figured out already. I got catering from Aldini’s. Clark wanted Italian.”

This causes Alfred to blink for a moment in surprise. Even if he may enjoy some of the finer things in life, Bruce does not often indulge in them. “Ah. Very well then.” He lets his silence speak for itself.

Bruce downs the rest of his coffee and sets the mug on the counter, but keeps his grip on it. He avoids his butler’s gaze. Alfred frowns. “The reason that Clark is coming over is—” Bruce cuts himself off. He pushes away the mug, sets his hands in his lap, and looks up. “We’re dating. I’m bisexual, Alfred.”

He blinks, a little in shock. But not in judgement— not for this. No, Alfred is just a little surprised that his boy has been brave enough to actually _tell him_ rather than assuming that he would figure it out on his own. Although, that thought leads to another: _why didn’t he tell me before?_

“Al?” Bruce’s voice is small. It breaks his heart, and disrupts his reverie.

Alfred gets to his feet, a bit stiffly. “Come here.” He opens his arms. Hesitantly, Bruce obliges, practically smothering him in the hug. Sometimes, he is still amazed by how large Bruce has grown, when he can so clearly remember the small boy who once ran through the manor, and would hide in the dumbwaiter during hide-and-seek.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Bruce rumbles above him.

Alfred sighs, and releases his boy. Bruce steps back. “My apologies, Bruce. I was merely pondering as to why you had never informed me of this before.” Bruce blinks. His silence is more than telling. Alfred’s heart breaks a little more. _God knows I was not a perfect parent— but this? Have I truly led my boy to believe that I would judge him for who he loves?_

“I- I wasn’t sure… how you’d react.” Bruce’s voice comes out soft, just above a whisper. It is a confession.

Alfred purses his lips a moment, and thinks that he _will_ allow himself to indulge in a glass of brandy or two later this evening. “I would not lie to you, Master Bruce, by saying that I _never_ judge you— for I do. But what I judge you for are your actions, and their morality. This— your… orientation, is _not_ an action. It has no moral implications, so long as you are not disrespectful of your partner. Whomever they may be.”

Bruce stiffens for a moment, and then, hesitantly, nods. “Alright. Than- thank you.”

Alfred offers him a smile. Shyly, Bruce returns it. They are both silent again.

Then, a thought strikes him. “When is Master— Clark, to arrive this evening?”

“In two hours.”

Alfred blinks, and sends Bruce a reprimanding look. “I see you have put your _famous_ strategy-devising skills to good use, Sir.” Bruce looks suitably sheepish, so he relents. “Very well. I only wish I had had more notice to prepare to meet your— what is Clark’s appropriate title?”

“Boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend then, Master Bruce.”

“I… I’m honored, Al. But we didn’t get enough food.”

“Do not fret about that, my boy; I can make something for myself. And I shall endeavor to make a good impression.”

Bruce snorts. “I think it’s usually the _other_ way around, Alfred.”

“How silly of me… I am proud of you, Bruce.”

“Thanks, Al.”

**Author's Note:**

> Set early-ish in this universe. 
> 
> I have no idea why so many of these have been spill/beverage related.


End file.
